


Unsuited to Formality

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Tailoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Set in the same universe asAttention to Detail,Dadbert takes Bro to the tailor's and Bro gets a treat for going along with it.
Relationships: Dad Egbert/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Unsuited to Formality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllDaveKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDaveKat/gifts).



> Thanks to Emi for the commission!

Bro was not generally the kind to knock off early. He clocked in precisely ten minutes before his shift and clocked out precisely two minutes after it. His lunch breaks were like clockwork. He liked routine. He liked the idea that his punctuality messed with whoever did the timesheets. But today he had been talked into taking a half-day, because James was dragging him to a fancy-ass event for fancy-ass business dudes in a couple of months and Bro’s version of formal just meant his jeans that didn’t have holes in them and apparently that wasn’t acceptable. Bro’s coworkers did not need to know that he was taking personal time to visit a _tailor’s._ “Personal day” was as much as they were gonna get from him. 

It followed that Bro felt the need to work harder than usual so he didn’t leave the guys (and Ruby) trying to make up for his absence. It was a hot day, even for a Texas boy in Seattle, so Bro’s polo was half shoved in the back of his jeans and his hat was backwards to keep the sun off his neck. While he had to imagine this was doing _something_ for him, he could feel the sweat collecting and dripping down his spine, the sun doing what it could to try and burn him. He wasn’t sure the sun on this side of the country could burn anyone anyway. _Well,_ he thought, watching Trent lug a bag of sand to a mixer with his red skin tinted slightly blue from the quantity of belated sunscreen he had on it, _maybe it could burn some people._ Poor motherfucker had to be faring worse than anyone today, but Bro wasn’t gonna be the one rubbing aloe into him.

He wasn’t the only one in this zone, which was why he had to endure top 40 radio from tinny speakers and two guys talking about _ultimate frisbee_ of all fucking things, as dust managed to find its way into his gloves and he struggled to find a posture that wouldn’t wreak havoc on his back. He propped up one knee on a toolbox as he dragged his trowel over cement and fit bricks into place. The repetitive movements were both satisfying and what made this job more grueling than mechanical work had been. He laid his bricks, sweated and listened to the chatter without joining in.

He fit in pretty well, even though he wasn’t a chatty guy. He was strong, he laid bricks unfailingly straight and when he did deem it necessary to socialise, he had unapologetically filthy jokes on hand that he delivered with deadpan casualness. Still, apart from the boss-man and whoever it was who did the paychecks, no one knew Bro’s given name or even seemed to realise he had one. 

Which is why it caused somewhat of a stir when James arrived to pick him up and asked Trent where “Dirk” was. Bro caught sight of where Trent and Ruby were taking James’s presence as an excuse to slack off as he pushed a barrow of bricks across the site and he groaned to himself. He dropped the handles and jogged over before the idiots could scare James off (not that he scared easy) or say something really fucking stupid. 

‘Hey,’ Bro said. ‘This’s my man, James.’

 _‘You’re_ Dirk?’ Trent asked.

Bro ignored him. 

‘I’m understanding why you moved here,’ Ruby said lecherously. 

Bro ignored her.

‘Gimme three minutes to wrap shit up,’ Bro said.

‘We’ll look after him,’ Ruby said quickly. 

‘Sure, we’ll give you the grand tour,’ Trent said. 

Bro considered arguing, but that’d just take up more time and he had a very specific impression to leave vis a vis his timesheets. He grimaced apologetically at James and jogged back to his barrow, leaving him to be shown around a very mundane work site without wearing a hard hat. Not that half of them did, but if an anvil or piano fell on his head, the foreman would shit so many bricks that Bro’d be out of a job. 

He dropped the bricks off and signed out with an eye on his watch. Then he hightailed it the fuck back to where he’d abandoned his boyfriend to the hazards of falling debris and two coworkers he didn’t completely hate, but certainly didn’t trust. He found them exactly where he left them.

‘No grand tour?’ he asked.

‘Rubes thought we’d get in the shit if he stepped on a nail or something,’ Trent said. 

‘Even odds whether you or the foreman’d kill us first,’ Ruby grinned.

‘Really?’ James said with surprise. ‘The foreman must be an impressive gentleman.’

Bro smirked at the unease James has caused and the sudden eyes on his own biceps, which were pretty kickin’ and he could admit that. He hoped it would add further to the general enigma that he presented. 

He thought that’d be a good note to end on, so he put a hand on James’s shoulder and turned him in the direction of the parking lot. He pulled his shirt out of his jeans and wiped his face and neck free of sweat.

‘I see now why you insist on going back to your house before coming to dinner,’ James said. 

‘Yeah,’ Bro said, climbing into his shirt, unimpressed by the way it clinged to his wet skin. ‘Said I could’ve ran home first and met you at yours for the drive. This is a helluva “before” look.’

‘Don’t misinterpret my surprise for disinterest,’ James said. ‘I may need to intercept you before your shower one day.’

Bro paused, one hand on the open car door and about to climb in, and raised an eyebrow above his shades at James. He considered it for about a second and a half before he decided he was entirely on board with messing up James’s polished ensemble with his post-work grime. Maybe James would disapprove of the dirt and sweat transferring from Bro’s skin to his pristine shirt, but ultimately give in because he found Bro too hot. He could get around that scenario.

‘One day?’ he asked. ‘I’m unshowered now, and I’ve got more energy than I would after a full shift.’

‘One day,’ James repeated. ‘We have an appointment.’

In all honesty, Bro was not looking forward to the appointment. He’d worn a suit for prom and had hated every throat-constricting second of it. He’d ended up leaving early to exchange handjobs in the alley behind a McDonalds and considered the night to be in the upper echelon of prom experiences, but still one he’d pass on if he had to go through high school again. Still, this was for James. He forced himself to shed his work persona and just be a good boyfriend for the next couple hours. James really didn’t ask much of him. 

James told Dirk about his own half day as he drove them back to Dirk’s house. He was the one who was organising the event and Dirk was very clearly trying to be supportive and interested in it. James appreciated it all the more because he thought he might actually be convinced by Dirk’s questions and carefully open posture if he didn’t know him so well. 

‘I know you’ve never enjoyed formal events,’ James said.

‘Never been to one I wasn’t forced to attend,’ Dirk said, though he wasn’t sure that would have changed after this one. Force probably wasn’t the right word. ‘Or one that someone as good as you had planned.’

‘You are a flatterer, young man,’ James said.

‘Ain’t never been accused of that before,’ Dirk said, smiling at the centre console instead of James.

James pulled into Dirk’s driveway and killed the engine. 

‘I am going to make myself a coffee,’ James said. ‘You _will_ be ready by the time I am finished with it.’

‘Yessir,’ Dirk said, climbing out of the car. James followed him to the door and then pecked him gently on the lips before heading to the kitchen.

Dirk set a timer for seven minutes, estimating that he would need that long to wash the grime free of his hair and that he’d need the rest of the time to style it again as hats were out of the question. Throwing clothes on would take seconds, so he didn’t bother to factor it in. One of the advantages of wearing damn near the same thing every day.

He came out of his room just as James turned the sink on to rinse out his mug and waited by the front door, fumbling with the clasp of the necklace he didn’t wear to work. Usually he made Dave do it up. He could assemble a motherboard with his eyes closed but he couldn’t make a fucking necklace work on his own. He sighed and handed it to James when he approached.

‘This is very nearly ready,’ James teased.

‘If you’d’a given me an hour I wouldn’t have gotten it on,’ Dirk grumbled. 

James wrapped the chain around Dirk’s neck and fastened it easily, then smoothed it so that the silver links laid flat and even. Dirk suppressed a shiver. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way James touched him, like he was worth everything that James did for him and maybe more. James in turn was in awe of the way that Dirk looked at him when he did such simple things and was forever inspired to keep touching, keep spoiling, just to see the vulnerable devotion in his eyes.

But he smiled and opened the door for Dirk instead, because they had an appointment to keep. He continued to make conversation on the way to the tailor’s, office gossip and griping about an underling’s poor grasp of his main account and wonder at the new coffee machine the on-site cafe had obtained. Dirk listened attentively, as he always did. He had a memory that would make his eventual continuation of university studies go a lot easier than it did for most, but that was for later. For after Dirk had secured Dave his own education and had the space to devote everything he had to it. James didn’t mind that Dirk was refusing his help on this front. He had his own plans to help the boys along and he could use the time to further them.

Dirk visibly stiffened as they pulled into a park close to the tailor’s. James wondered for a moment if he was pushing him too far, but he had to trust Dirk to enforce his own limits. Outside the car, James placed his hand on Dirk’s lower back and felt when Dirk leaned almost imperceptibly towards him for a moment. He left his hand there until he stepped forward to open the tailor’s door for him, at which point he wondered if he should have stayed in that position so as to push him through it.

Dirk only hesitated a moment, but hated himself for every microsecond. He tried to set a good example of badassery for Dave and he was definitely not holding up his own standards. Dave probably would love this actually, kid owned _several_ ties which had either come out of his pocket money or had been worth risking pinching. He loaned them to Dirk when he went out with James whenever James forgot that the way to treat Dirk was to lie in bed and eat doritos while watching _She-Ra and the Princesses of Power_ and they went to somewhere tie-worthy instead. Dirk walked through the fucking door.

James and the tailor exchanged pleasantries and Dirk tried to tug down a cap he wasn’t wearing and itched for the shades he’d left in the glovebox. The tailor excused himself to go and get his things and James guided Dirk towards a spacious empty room with a mirror and platform. Both his hands alighted on Dirk’s waist when they were inside and he moved close to Dirk’s ear.

‘I have fantasised about seeing you in a waistcoat since our first date,’ James murmured, voice low and deep and capable of turning even the most banal phrases into a command to get to the bedroom _now,_ nevermind when he was talking fantasies. 

‘Been fantasising about you in leather pants for a while, ‘m I gonna get my wish too?’

‘If you’re very good,’ James said with a quiet chuckle. 

_Do **not,**_ Dirk mentally commanded his dick. It was not allowed to misbehave when a well-dressed man was about to come in and measure his inseam. He took a deep breath that caught slightly on a suddenly shaky throat. James chuckled again and pressed a small kiss to Dirk’s jaw before stepping away and folding his hands behind his back, a picture of decorum. Dirk glared at him, which only made his eyes dance more brightly with amusement.

Then the tailor returned and Dirk was forced back into neutrality. 

‘Mr Strider,’ the tailor said warmly. He gestured towards a trio of leather armchairs, the expensive kind of old. ‘Please, take a seat, both of you.’

They both did as they were told. James squeezed Dirk’s knee briefly to remind him to breathe and behave. 

‘Now, some questions before we start. Have you thought about materials?’

‘I have,’ James said, smiling. ‘Dirk has less experience than I do.’

‘Ah, but choosing a suit is a very personal thing, impeccable as your taste always is.’

‘I trust him,’ Dirk said, his accent precise in a way that seemed cold to James, who was used to his drawl.

‘Be that as it may,’ the tailor said. He picked up a book, more of a folder really, from the low table next to his chair and handed it to Dirk. ‘Please, have a browse. Choose one that you like the feel of and I’ll fetch the book of colours for that fabric.’

Dirk looked at James, slightly alarmed at having to participate.

‘We will guide you, Mr Strider,’ the tailor said in a confidential tone. ‘But it is you who will have to wear it. There is no wrong choice; all of our options are of the highest quality.’

‘There’s a . . . lot,’ Dirk said.

‘Over 3000, once you account for colours,’ the tailor said proudly.

Dirk looked at James again, this time begging for an escape. James helpfully opened the folder for him and placed his hand on the first sample.

‘Nice,’ Dirk said. ‘This is fine.’

Apparently this was not an acceptable level of consideration. 

Dirk was sorely tempted to flick through the pages until he found the name of the cashmere/wool blend he remembered James telling him about, and that was his plan until he found the section on velvet and was overcome with showmanship. 

‘It’s for James’s event,’ he said, fingers stroking the swatch absentmindedly. ‘I don’t want to look wrong.’

‘You couldn’t possibly,’ James said, leaning forward to feel the velvet as well. ‘Michael, this is delightful.’

‘I haven’t been hiding it,’ the tailor said. ‘I would be surprised to see you in it, though.’

‘No, you’re right,’ James said, ruefully amused. ‘A younger man’s suit.’

‘I would be surprised to see your son in it as well,’ the tailor said.

‘Ah,’ James said. ‘A Strider’s suit.’

Despite himself, Dirk really liked the sound of that. Being a Strider was the best thing he’d ever done.

The tailor excused himself to get the colour book and Dirk turned to James.

‘Is it really okay? It’s not what you planned, I should have just—’

James leaned forward and touched his fingertips to Dirk’s jaw to pull him into a kiss. 

‘I can change m’mind,’ Dirk said, looking slightly dazed.

‘You may not,’ James said sternly. 

He released Dirk and sat back in his chair, with uncanny sense for the tailor’s arrival. Dirk was handed the colour folder and flicked through, holding his hand under colours that caught his eye to see them on his skin. 

‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ he whispered to James.

‘I will not let you make a decision you will regret,’ James said.

Dirk met his eyes, saw the certainty there, and resumed looking. After ten minutes, two of which involved choosing between several pages, he narrowed it down to two. He held the book out to James and James finally conceded and chose for him. He chose the one that Dirk had lingered on longer and was rewarded with a small smile and nod. For all that one could accuse Dirk of having no fashion taste (James had learned to accept that he had installed spats in his converse and had resisted the urge to throw away the belt he owned that looked like Batman’s), a suit with a bold pattern and fabric like this would be beautiful when paired with a simple shirt and waistcoat.

‘Now,’ the tailor said delicately, as if he was a doctor delivering bad news. ‘You are wearing jeans.’

‘I, uh,’ Dirk said, hand flying to the back of his neck to rub the skin below his hairline. ‘I don’t have trousers. Thought wearing James’s wouldn’t be helpful.’

‘No,’ the tailor said, barely even looking like he wanted to vomit at the idea, ‘it would not be. I can provide a pair off the rack. You look to be a 32?’

‘34,’ Dirk said. ‘Looser fit, wear a belt. Got thighs.’

‘I see,’ the tailor said. ‘Well, that is what we are here for.’

‘Don’t gotta wear a belt?’ Dirk said, before straightening in his chair as though that could erase his brief slip.

‘No, you will wear a belt,’ the tailor said, now struggling to maintain his equanimity.

James managed to hold in his laughter until the tailor left to get Dirk some clothes more suitable to measurement. Then he clapped Dirk on the shoulder jovially. 

‘You like this,’ Dirk observed. ‘You like watching me spend half a fuckin’ hour picking out fabric.’

‘I do,’ James said. ‘Not so much as to use a profanity, but I do.’

‘You’re a dork,’ Dirk said.

‘You like it too,’ James said.

‘’S alright,’ Dirk said, smiling. ‘Parents never let me have a say.’

‘They were fools, you chose well. Better than I did.’

‘You know I’ll sleep with you without the praise, right?’

‘Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt.’

James unnecessarily left the room with the tailor as Dirk changed into the pants and shirt the tailor had given him, but returned for the measurements. Dirk thought he looked fine with the stuff that was off the rack, really, even though he did need his belt, but he knew better than to express this. 

‘So, Mr Strider,’ the tailor said. ‘What is it that you do?’

‘Look pretty so that James’ll buy me presents,’ Dirk said, staring at the wall as the tailor wrapped tape around his neck. After a second, when James hadn’t corrected him, he decided to be less of a dick. ‘I’m a bricklayer.’

‘That must be tiring work.’

‘Yup.’

‘Do you find that it is rewarding?’

‘Liked mechanics more, but no one wants to take on someone in their last six months of an apprenticeship. Still, it’s good work.’

James watched another man draw measuring tape around Dirk’s chest, across his shoulders, down his arm. He watched the tape draw the outline of Dirk’s hips and found his lips dry. He licked them. Michael was making conversation with Dirk and Dirk was managing to answer in clipped tones that took his discomfort and very nearly turned it into rudeness, but James couldn’t listen to the words, either to disapprove or to be amused. He could only see practiced fingers running down Dirk’s thigh, calf, holding the tape firm and precise and drawing attention to every measured inch of a body that James had _truly_ unlimited access to. 

‘Isn’t that right, James?’ Michael said. 

‘I’m sorry,’ James said with an easy and yet _so_ forced smile. ‘I was away with the pixies. Please repeat the question.’

‘I’ve just dressed the boy, James,’ Michael said. ‘Perhaps you could refrain from undoing my work _just_ yet.’

‘I come here for your wit,’ James said. ‘It entirely redeems the quality of your tie pins.’

It was much the same when they returned for Dirk’s baste fitting, where the skeleton of wine coloured fabric promised sharp lines and smooth lapels. The tailor asked polite questions that reminded Dirk of when he used to go to a hairdresser’s instead of using his own scissors and Dirk was a bit of a dick back while James stared. 

Dirk couldn’t hate the tailor’s quite so much anymore, not even when it involved more visits than he had been warned about, because it came with the promise of a reward the moment that they got home, his body pressed against the front door and clothes torn at the seams, ownership thoroughly established through reverent and ecstatic worship hurried through like a promise that needed to be kept _urgently._

And it was the same again when the suit was finished and being measured for any last alterations it might need before it could hang in Dirk’s closet and be retrieved whenever he wanted to be fucked in an inappropriately unfancy way. Or used at fancy parties, though he hoped the sex was the more frequent reason.

Dirk was measured, staring at James staring at him and seeing uncharacteristically uncontrolled lust on his face. It was hard to breathe, to make stilted conversation with a man who _had_ to know what was going on, who was tugging his sleeves straight and smoothing down the fabric on his back, asking James’s opinion on the fit around his legs and receiving strained replies. Dirk almost wanted to apologise, but he was too busy thinking of anything in the world that wasn’t this, stopping himself from imagining what was going through James’s mind, doing everything he could to prevent the tailor from deciding that he had mismeasured the amount of room his junk needed because of unintentional and unwanted swelling. James was supposed to be the _restrained_ one. 

‘It’s looking very nice, Mr Strider,’ the tailor said. ‘I think we can let you take it home today in fact. But you know best.’

‘Do I?’ Dirk asked.

‘Yes,’ the tailor laughed. ‘Take a few minutes. Sit in the chair, walk around, pick a pen off the ground, lean against the wall. Make sure it moves with you. I will be back shortly.’

‘Thank you,’ James said.

Just before the tailor reached the door, they heard the tinkle of the door opening. 

‘Ah, excellent timing,’ the tailor said. ‘I will serve this customer myself, I shouldn’t be too long.’

He pulled the door behind him but not quite to closing, leaving it maybe a foot ajar. James deemed that good enough and pulled Dirk back and properly out of the way. Dirk bent his neck for a kiss but was surprised when James sank to his knees and out of reach, suit jacket folded underneath him for cushioning.

‘Uh,’ Dirk said. ‘Length is fine, he checked.’ James unzipped his fly. ‘Holy shit, Egbert, the door isn’t even—’ _closed,_ he meant to say, but James’s mouth was enveloping his cock and he had to shove his knuckles between his teeth to stop himself from making any kind of noise in reaction to that. 

He held the hem of his shirt against his stomach to keep it out of the way and that was all he had the presence of mind to do, because every other thought was narrowing down to _okay, maybe this **is** a good idea_ and _ohhh fuck,_ both of which he struggled to keep internalised. His hand reached for James’s head to pull it towards him faster, harder, but he saw how neatly it was combed at the last second and balled it into a fist by his thigh instead. 

It felt wrong, how much James put into this. Nailing Dirk into the mattress, sure, he was methodical and authoritative and quick to spank when Dirk was impatient or bratty or swore, that made sense. Even when Dirk fucked him he had such a presence that Dirk felt like a tool for his pleasure, a role he was plenty happy to undertake. But there was something forbidden about Dirk being allowed this, being the undivided focus of a man who looked so _hot_ with his lips stretched around Dirk’s cock. 

Dirk stared at it disappearing and drawing out of James’s mouth again and again, mesmerised and highly fucking motivated to finish quickly. James felt that motivation too. He pulled off long enough to suck his index finger for a moment and resumed, this time with his finger reaching back and teasing Dirk’s asshole.

Dirk’s breath hitched and he groaned against the back of his hand, rocking in tiny uncontrollable movements that James urged and worked with until, with hands clenching so tight it was painful, Dirk spurted come down James’s throat. James lingered long enough to make sure he’d caught it all, then tidied Dirk’s still-hard dick into his underwear and pants with quick precision. Dirk took over to tuck his shirt back in and do up his belt. He thought they had gotten away with it when the tailor walked in, James still on his knees.

‘These are more even than the suit you made for me last year,’ James said, tugging on Dirk’s pant cuffs demonstratively. He cleared his slightly husky voice. Dirk's heart stuttered as he stared expressionlessly at the wall. 

‘My work does not require double-checking,’ the tailor said. ‘But I find I am not surprised.’

James stood, drawing his jacket up with him so he could hold it folded in front of him. Dirk turned to walk away as if testing the movement, willing the blood to leave his erection and go to his moving legs instead. He remembered what the tailor had said about picking up a pen, which he did not have, so he mimed it instead, glancing down at himself as he crouched. Could be worse. He still held his hands clasped in front of him when he straightened and faced the tailor again, trying _very_ hard not to look at James’s jacket as if he could see through it.

‘You’ve done a fine job,’ James said.

‘Thank you,’ the tailor said. He looked at Dirk assessingly for a moment. ‘You look a little flushed, may I get you a water?’

‘Yes, please,’ James said, before Dirk could say no and protest that he’d never looked flushed in his entire life. 

The tailor left the room again and Dirk saw the advantages of James’s move. James approached and Dirk took a step backwards, holding up his hands. 

‘That is _not_ a long enough time for—’ he started.

‘Please,’ James scoffed, as if it was a ridiculous assumption. ‘I want to straighten you up before Michael returns.’

Dirk allowed James to retuck in his shirt and adjust his waistcoat. When he started to fiddle with the knot of Dirk’s tie, Dirk batted his hands away and strode to the chairs. He leaned against the arm of one and looked pointedly at James. There was a limit to how much he could have his clothes rearranged and he definitely wasn’t wanting to leave the tailor with the impression that he was incapable of straightening his own damn tie.

‘Sit properly, Dirk,’ James sighed. 

Dirk slouched his shoulders and tried to put his hands in his pockets. They were sewn shut.

‘Are you pouting?’

‘No,’ Dirk said defensively. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘A little, Christ.’ He dropped his slouch and sat normally, because to deny that there was something happening would be pointless. ‘I’m gettin’ sick of standing on the little stage thing and being fussed over, I feel like a fuckin’ doll.’

‘I had hoped it wasn’t such an ordeal,’ James said, frowning slightly.

‘Believe me, I thought it’d be worse. But can we just buy the suit already? This is the _third_ time we’ve been here.’

James crossed the room but stopped with a great sigh when Dirk lifted a leg up as if he intended to stop him with a foot to the chest. He didn’t doubt Dirk’s willingness to do it, either. He waited for Dirk to put his leg down, but he didn’t and James knew better than to test his stubbornness. 

‘What can I do, beyond what I have _already_ done,’ James looked at Dirk meaningfully, which was entirely unnecessary, ‘to make you more comfortable?’

‘Don’t let him measure me again,’ Dirk says immediately. ‘Don’t hang around and chit-chat about golf or ironing techniques, don’t browse his hankies, just get me the fuck out of here.’

Michael returned with two glasses of water and Dirk put his leg down. 

‘Good range of movement,’ he said, drawl coming out in his determination not to look thrown. 

‘Michael, I’m afraid we have to hurry this up,’ James said. ‘My son has just texted, he is feeling unwell. May we settle the bill while Dirk gets changed?’

‘Of course,’ Michael said. 

When they were finished and back in the car, James was relieved that Dirk leaned across the console to kiss him before he deactivated the handbrake. 

‘I was a brat,’ Dirk said.

‘Yes,’ James agreed.

‘Am I hot enough in a suit to make up for it?’

‘Yes,’ James said, laughter in his eyes.

‘Good,’ Dirk said, shifting lower in his seat and pulling his shades from the glovebox and onto his face. ‘I’ll make you a calendar.’

‘One I will be unable to use where it can be seen, undoubtedly.’

‘Hide it under your bed,’ Dirk shrugged. 

James pulled out of the parking space, and turned the car towards their homes. With his suit hanging in the back seat and the future looking clear of more tailor visits for now, Dirk talked with more animation than he had on previous trips, describing vividly the sensation of a handful of gravel being poured down his pants as he had experienced that morning for no reason he could discern apart from the idea occurring to Ruby as she was supposedly checking that a wall was level. James grimaced and smiled at appropriate times and thought about how Dirk was so short with just about everyone in the world and so comfortable with him. Part of him was sad that so few people could know how brilliant Dirk was, but he treasured how wholly Dirk was his a lot more.


End file.
